Gah. Sunday again and no, this time I'm not bored, just bloody exhausted.
People who know me also know it's a BAD idea to wake me up. Really. You know the phrase, let sleeping dogs lie? That could've been said about me. When Dee and I were living together, she would tiptoe around the house on Sunday, watching TV with the doors shut and volume low and if by some freak chance she had to come into my room, she did it bloody carefully. People also know not to call me in the morning, because god help you if you wake me up from beautiful dreams about designer stubble guy just because you're up and you want to say something.
The reason I get so grouchy when I'm woken up is because I'm essentially a very light sleeper. Even in deep REM, if someone says my name, I'm up like a shot. I can't sleep, unless I'm really tired, unless there's absolute darkness and absolute quiet. So if you wake me up, I probably won't be able to fall asleep again. Which is terrible, because I need my beauty sleep more than most people!
So, why then, at 6.30 am on Sunday morning, having just returned two hours prior to that from Elevate, was eM waking up to the beep-beep-beepbeep-beep-beep of her phone alarm? Why did she not simply yank the thing out of its charger and fling it across the room? Good questions. Because my dears, I had to wake up to go to fucking Manesar about 12 kilometres out of Gurgaon which is about thirty kilometers from my house to go for a golf tournament which started at eight. (Insert pity here). I don't know the first thing about golf. Okay, so I know a few things, having once *ahem* dated a pro-golfer. But he refused to teach me, saying it would "ruin our relationship". (God, that's got to be the lamest line the male sex uses!) and so all I knew was how to toss about "What's your handicap?" and "putting" and "teeing off". And the only reason I knew those was because when we used to party, we went out with all his golfer buddies. But go near his clubs (see, more technical jargon!) and he turned into a bear.
But tough luck, no one else was free on a Sunday, except me and so it fell to my lot. Anyway, so I tumbled out of bed, still with eyeshadow smeared raccoon-like all over my face and still, truth be told, a little drunk, and with the Elevate stamp on my wrist, pulled on some clothes and left. Then I started getting pumped up. Ooh, my first-ever sports assignment! What fun! And there would be open green fields and hot golfers and I would learn a lot about the game and dazzle everyone with my knowledge. Yeah... not so much.
Golf is essentially an old man's sport, despite the few young 'uns that play now and then. And so there were old men, big shot old men, but old men nevertheless. And ya, did you know they don't like to be talked to during the game? And do you know the game lasts about 6 hours? So, do the math, me there at 9 am, people golfing, no one to even get a quote out of, I was stuck doing nothing for about four hours. Oh, there were two other journalists and the PR guy and the photographer. But being in features and all, I kinda get used to the gatherings generally being all women, with the odd (and some are very) man tossed in here and there. Not this time. These chaps were doing ultimate guy bonding, talking about cars and sports and investments. I beat my top score on Snake 2.
Then they switched to not-so-subtly showing off about their jobs and achievements. In Hindi. I can show off with the best of them, but my Hindi isn't top-of-the-line. So while each humbly talked about pages and how they handled entire sections and the junkets they had been on, I beat my top score on Space Impact. It was a good day for cellphone games.
I kept myself occupied and awake after that by thinking about the two pairs of shoes I bought on sale yesterday. They're absolutely gorgeous. One is a silvery lavendery pair of heels with an ankle support and about a six-inch drop. The other pair is chappals, white, and they lace up toga-style around your calves. I was wearing them, so I kept stretching out my feet to admire them.
Elevate, by the way, was bril-li-ant, I can't even begin to describe it. If it wasn't for the pricey cover charge it would probably replace TC in my heart. I went with Iggy and Yash and (yay!) wore my first halter of the season, thank you very much. It's getting really warm these days, I didn't even need a shawl.
Anyway, so golf ended around three and we circulated among the various big shots and got some stories and then went home. Never again. This is why I'm not a sports reporter, I remind myself thankfully.